


It Bears Remembering

by grav_ity



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-08 04:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20311660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grav_ity/pseuds/grav_ity
Summary: The notice is posted in the village square, on the Chantry board to attract maximum attention. A bear’s been spotted in the forest. It’s not unheard of, but it is unusual, and no one’s really sure what to do about it. The people here are mostly farmers, and while they hunt some game, a bear is beyond them. Fortunately, help is close at hand.





	It Bears Remembering

The notice is posted in the village square, on the Chantry board to attract maximum attention. A bear’s been spotted in the forest. It’s not unheard of, but it is unusual, and no one’s really sure what to do about it. The people here are mostly farmers, and while they hunt some game, a bear is beyond them. Fortunately, help is close at hand.

Adara mostly reads the Chantry board out of habit, but will argue that it’s a good way to keep up on local events if anyone pesters her about it. It’s better than lingering in the local pub, where she’s all-too-likely to hear a song about herself. She’s able to accept it gracefully when it happens, but there’s a currently popular variation of Andraste’s Mabari that Cullen can’t hear without turning bright pink. The only thing that unnerves him more is every time they come across an infant proudly named in their honour.

She sees the note about the bear (along with four complaints about the local scarecrow population and the usual lost and found notices), and immediately tells the Reverend Mother that she’ll handle it. Well, at least, she’ll organize the handling of it. What’s the point of having a house full of (ex-)Templars if they don’t get to use their muscles sometimes?

Cullen is almost too thrilled when she tells him. Waiting for an unknown apocalypse has not been easy for any of them, and Cullen chafes at the restraints of knowing he might not be able to fight next time. She knows he craves—not adventure, not quite—but purpose, yes, and even if this is a small operation, it’s still something to do. The desk in his office is soon covered with a map of the area, little markers at every sighting and theoretical game trails drawn on in green ink. He decides that five knights, a one-armed rogue, and an overly amicable Mabari ought to be enough, so he selects four (ex-)Templars, and they set out on the hunt.

All reports indicate that the bear is oddly polite. It hasn’t eaten any livestock that were obviously fenced—Goodwife Hooper’s free-range druffalo have not been so lucky—and it hasn’t even come close to ravaging a person. All told, it’s a bit of a mystery.

“Every bear I’ve ever hunted was pretty calm until it saw us,” Adara says on the second evening, when they’re all sitting around the campfire. “But this one seems extra passive.”

“Do you think it’s ill?” ask Ser Robard. He’s relatively new and his hands still shake too much to shave.

“Most sick animals get more vicious, not less,” argues Ser Brettany. Hers is a sergeant’s voice, even at close range, and Robard straightens even though he’s not technically under anyone’s command any longer.

“We won’t know until we see it,” Cully says. “But it’ll be wise to consider our options until then.”

The other knights nod and conversation peters out as they seek their tents. They haven’t even set a watch schedule, Fetch being a good enough warning system. There’s not much in this area of South Ferelden to cause problems anymore. It’s amazing what (ex-)Templar presence invokes in the local bandit population.

“I think I’m getting too old to sleep on the ground,” Cullen says. His knees crack a bit alarmingly as he crawls into their bedroll.

“Poor Commander Rutherford,” Adara says, no hint of pity in her voice. “Perhaps you should leave the adventuring to younger bones?”

“Maker, no,” Cullen says.

He flops on his back and hold his arms out to her. She finishes kicking off her boots and unlaces the side of her overtunic. It’s tied with knots that she can both tie and untie one-handed. A Nevarran sailor had taught her in the waning days of Skyhold, when they were packing up and deciding what belonged where. Josie had been thrilled: the style caught on in several courts immediately, undeniable proof that the Inquisition still lingered. Leliana had recruited the sailor for reasons that Adara didn’t understand until she received a tapestry of linen strips, each knotted more elaborately than the one before it, all of which she could tie with one hand. When Solas makes his move, they will need a new code, afterall, and it must be one Adara herself can do.

For now, though, there is no need of the knots beyond their direct practicality, and the tunic slides to the ground, leaving her in her light shift. Adara links her fingers with Cullen’s outstretched hand, and lets him pull her own. His brace against her shoulder is natural, but her heart warms every time.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in ages,” he adds, once they’ve arranged themselves comfortably. Despite his complaints, he’s between most of her and the ground. Her left arm is propped on a special pillow that supports her the way her elbow used to. “Is that terrible?”

“Well, I’m sure Goodwife Hooper’s druffalo are put out,” Adara laughs. “But no, I know exactly what you mean. It’s even nicer to be doing something without the fate of all Thedas literally hanging over head.”

“Is that why you did so many random errands while you were the Inquisitor?” Cullen’s fingers are in her hair, pulling out the practical, less messy than it used to be twist she’d put it in for sleeping so he wouldn’t wake up with a mouthful of curls. He makes his own choices.

“A bit,” she admits. “Also, it was nice to give people something to hold on to when the world was falling apart around their ears. I could do it, and it holds back despair, a bit.”

For no reason he can particularly explain, he pushes past the laces on her breeches and slides a hand inside her smalls. She’s not expecting it, and crashes her head into his chin, but he only laughs, kisses her shoulder, and sets to work.

The angle is all wrong for it to be anything like enough, but his fingers find her clit easily, and she spreads her knees as much as she can without falling off of his chest. He knows she’s biting her lip, trying to stay quiet because the other tents are close and Fetch can definitely get through the canvas if he decides she sounds distressed. He wants to see her, and in spite of what his knees might think, he’s still strong enough to make that happen. More or less, anyway.

She whines when his hand moves away, but understands immediately when he starts to turn her. She ends up sitting just above his knees, fingers unlacing his trews as he shifts the pillows so that she can lean forward without falling. They both laugh as he scrambles to push their breeches out of the way, and then she shifts forward, rolling her hips as she takes him all the way in.

It’s his turn to bite down, now, until she leans into his hold and covers his mouth with hers. It’s a delicate balancing act, but one they’ve had some time to work on. He thrusts up and she receives him, arching her back so that he only has to duck down a little bit to mouth at the light fabric covering her breasts. His left hand steadies her at the waist as her movements become erratic, and the arm bracing her goes loose as she comes. He catches her shoulders as she falls apart over top of him, and pushes her up so that he can put both his hands on her hips.

“Yes,” she says, throwing her head back and just missing the canvas roof.

He holds her still through the first moments of her orgasm, and then he can stand it no longer. He moves her up and down the length of his cock, crashing her above him as she begs for more of it, until he breaks as well, and she slumps forward again to press kisses against his chest.

Outside the tent, the air is that deliberate sort of quiet Cullen is all-too familiar with, having lived in barracks as long as he has. Adara knows what it means as well, and can’t help burying a giggle against the linen of his shirt as he rearranges them into a slightly more comfortable position.

“I do miss helping people,” Cullen admits. He knows that the easy slide back into their previous conversation will only make her laugh harder and is rewarded with further giggles on the side of his neck, but also: it’s the first time he’s said those words out loud. “I know the clinic is going well, and it’s entirely self-serving to want to do more just because I want to be remembered—I don’t know, fondly?—but I want it all the same.”

Even a few months ago, he could not have said it. To want things for himself and for himself alone is new, and she loves the way he is coming to revel in it.

“That’s always who you were, Cullen,” she says, because it is.

Fetch has decided enough is enough, apparently, because the hound noses his way past the peg holding the tent shut and curls up beside them on the bedroll, pinning Cullen against the canvas.

“I think I’m on a rock,” he says. “Or a tree root.”

“I’ll kiss your bruises better in the morning,” she says.

Fetch whuffs quietly, confirming the promise, one assumes, and Cullen is just tired enough to fall the rest of the way asleep before too many more discomforts make themselves known.

+++

They find the bear’s trail almost immediately in the morning. It’s almost like it knows they’re coming, and wants to make it easy for them. Cullen is in good spirits, which the other (ex-)Templars mercifully do not mention. It is a marked difference from the company Adara used to keep, but she cannot say she minds it overmuch. Having a bit of privacy is kind of nice.

The trail leads them down into one of the little dells that mark the change in landscape where Ferelden starts to take the Frostbacks seriously. They’re a ways out from the village now, and the bear is making less and less sense with every step, but now Adara is committed. She’s always loved a good puzzle—the way her husband turns to chess—and this is the best she’s had in a while.

Adara holds up a hand to stop the (ex-)Templars moving forward, and places a quick pat on Fetch’s head when he drops to his haunches at Cullen’s heel. She steps forward on her own, quiet in a way that armoured knights can never manage, and scopes out the best path to the clearing ahead of her. She has no desire to face the bear alone, so when she’s confirmed its presence, she goes back for her companions. They do their best to be stealthy, of course, but Adara despairs at ever making rogues of any of them.

Cullen leads the way into the clearing, his sword low and his shield ready. The other (ex-)Templars flank him, and Adara will circle around with Fetch if they are needed. Two steps on to the smoother grass, the bear’s head comes up. Instead of growling or rising up defensively, it makes a strange noise that would be laughter if bears laughed, and ambles towards the knights in a casual manner.

The bear’s face is scarred and her fur is glossy. There’s something vaguely familiar about her that Adara cannot quite place, until Cullen steps forward with his sword down completely and exclaims “Storvacker?” because of course he remembers her name.

The other knights pause, understandably confused, but Adara sheathes her knives as Storvacker raises up on her hind legs, puts her front paws on Cullen’s shoulders, and licks him from chin to hairline with an impressively long tongue.

“That is quite enough of that,” Cullen says, almost too quietly for Adara to hear, but she can see his face, and his eyes are warm.

“You, um, know this bear, Commander?” Brettany says, sheathing her greatsword across her back. It’s nice to know that they trust Cullen this much.

“She was an agent of the Inquisition,” Cullen says carelessly. No wonder no one believes half the stories about what they did. “She helped us ally with the Avvar and for some reason, she likes me.”

“She thought his cape made him family,” Adara says.

Brettany snickers and Robard looks aghast. The other two (ex-)Templars are not yet comfortable enough with their new way of life to show much emotion in front of her, but Adara thinks this is as good a way to break them in as any.

“It was a very nice cape,” Cullen says, a bit defensively.

Storvacker returns to all fours, and comes over to nose at Adara’s pockets. Fetch doesn’t so much as growl. Adara has never minded having a somewhat failure of a Mabari less.

“What do we do with her, Ser?” Brettany asks. “She’s not going to come home with you, is she?”

“No,” Adara says. “Even when she was an agent, Storvacker was mostly on her own. I don’t understand why she’s here, though. She doesn’t seem to be in distress.”

Storvacker wanders back to Cullen and gently closes her mouth around one of his gauntlets. Ser Robard inhales a bit too sharply, but everyone else stays calm. The bear tugs Cullen towards the edge of the clearing, further up the game trail into the mountains. The rest of them follow a bit bemused until they arrive next to a little pond, the sort that forms when rocks fall in exactly the right way along a streambed. There, Storvacker releases Cullen, whuffing in a way that can only be described as “sit, stay”, and then disappears into a little hollow behind an uprooted tree.

There’s a strange magic to the moment. It’s the sort of thing Adara used to feel when she was in a dwarven ruin or standing in the arena at the Avvar camp. The opposite of the Venatori. The opposite of red lyrium. Something ineffably good, even though it’s not something that belongs to her, and she feels all the more fortunate for getting to see it.

Cullen feels the same way, she knows, and is less likely these days to think his heart tends towards heresy. Rather, it’s an acceptance of a larger world, a world he can help but not fix. It’s been very hard, shaking the core of his faith as he battles the tail ends of his addiction, but he has done it, and she is so proud of him that sometimes she thinks she might explode.

There’s a rustling in the bushes, and Storvacker returns. Behind her are three small, furry bundles that amble along in the not-quite straight lines of beings new to walking. Adara swallows a laugh and grasps Fetch’s collar lightly. Cullen merely looks gobsmacked.

Storvacker stops her cubs in front of him, and picks the closest one up by the scruff of its neck. She holds it out to Cullen, and he takes the little bear in his arms. The cub sniffs him for a moment, nosing at his cheek, and then Storvacker offers him the next one. Eventually, Cullen has held all three, and when he sets the third one down, it joins its siblings cavorting around his legs. There are tears in his eyes, and Adara finds that her own cheeks are wet at the majesty and intimacy of the moment.

After a few more minutes, Storvacker pulls her cubs away. Standing up to give Cullen one more bear-style kiss, she doesn’t flinch when he presses his face against her fur. Then, the bears disappear into the forest so quietly that Adara wonders for a moment if it had all been a strange, shared dream.

Ser Brettany herds the other (ex-)Templars away. She doesn’t say anything, but Adara knows she’ll get them all back to the camp while Adara and Cullen linger at the pond.

She comes over to take his hand, but Cullen pulls her against his chest, burying his nose in her hair. He smells of bear and she could not care less. For a long time, they stand together, breathing in the peace of the world that they have made. It’s not a perfect world, and there is still an apocalypse coming, but it’s the sort of present where people bring Cullen their children, regardless of species, because he has made them feel safe enough to do so.

And that’s enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> ALWAYS RECRUIT THE BEAR
> 
> and then do the bear's war table missions


End file.
